From Hammond to T.C. Williams; One boy's story
by JuliaBeth
Summary: Another one of my what if... stories. What if Coach Yoast had had a son on that first Titans team? Chapter Four is up. Please read and review.
1. Leaving the past behind.

Author's note: This is an idea that came to me late last night and I decided to see what I could do with it. Please let me know what you think. I thought this character would have put an interesting twist in the movie. If anyone thinks I have too many stories going on at once, just let me know and I'll put one on the back burner till I'm done with the others. Everything between ** are BJ's thoughts. This is the first time, I've tried write in first person POV, so please be kind. Enjoy.......  
  
  
  
Hi, my name is BJ. BJ Yoast and I am 17 years old. I like fast cars, loud music, pretty girls, rodoes, basically all the things most teen age boys like, and a few others besides. I love my family, my friends, my horse, my team, and football. Some poeple think I'm strange, becuase I'm always doing something, pulling a prank on some one, or just acting crazy, other's just think I'm hyped up on dope. But, I'm not. That's just me.  
  
I play for the Hammond High Bulldogs. Of course I play. I'm the Coach's son. Everybody in Alexandria expects me to play and well. I am good, too. Not as good as Gerry Bertier, but almost. I'll make All- American this season, I just know it. I'm not as big as some of the other guys, but I'm tall and I can run like the wind. Maybe that's why Coach made me a running back. Things aren't going to be easy this year, though. The school board decided to intergrate the schools which means some of us and some of the G.W. players are going to lose our starting positions. That has me worried. I'm a good running back, but Petey Jones is a good running back, too. Also with the schools intergrating, we'll have to face all that 'Coach just put him in because that's his son' crap all over again. Like when I was in the nineth grade. That junk was so bad then that I thought about quitting, so Daddy wouldn't have to explain his every move to irate parents, but he told me that, while it was my decision to play or quit, I had just as much right to be on that field as anyone else, and that he wasn't playing me just becuase I was his son, if someone came along, as good as I was, or better, I'd be riding the bench too. Believe me, I've done my share of that too. Oh, well, being fast, at least I can play wide out on the special teams. Jones ain't very good at that from what I've seen.  
  
(Opening scene: The Hammond High players are practicing on thier field, Coach and Sheryl are on the side lines, watching and discussing thier plays. The team lines up, the left side running back is slow to get into position and almost looks as though he's lost in thought.)  
  
I walk to my spot on the field and get ready for the play, even though, my mind is nowhere near the game. The QB puts the ball in my hands and I hestitate for just a second, but that second is long enough for Gerry to tackle me. I fall to the ground and all the air is knocked out of me as Gerry lands on top of me.  
  
"Man, get off me!" I shove him hard. He stands and I sit up, head between my knees, trying to catch my breath.  
  
"I stuck your butt," he laughs.  
  
"COME ON, BJ!!!! YOU CAN PLAY BETTER THAN THAT!!! YOU'RE MOVING LIKE MOLASSES OUT THERE!!!"  
  
*Yeah, thanks, Sis.* Gerry offers me a hand up. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.  
  
"BJ!! Get over here, Son." Daddy, who everybody, including Sis and me, calls Coach, is waving me over. I walk over with sense of dread. Don't get me wrong, Coach ain't one of those coachs who sreams and hollers about every little thing, but not paying attention to the game, esspecially when you are IN THE GAME, is a big NO-NO. You can get hurt badly doing that. In the very least, you can get the wind knock out of you on a simple tackle. I pull off my helmet as I go.  
  
(A tall lanky red head moves across the field, still holding his chest, taking big gasp of air.)  
  
*Yep. That's me. Too tall, legs too long, Daddy's redish-brown hair, though mine's more red than brown, his dark brown eyes, and though he'll never admit it, his same proud attitude.*  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Are you okay?" He asks.  
  
"Yes, sir," I answer. "Just a little winded."  
  
"Good." He nods.  
  
*What? No lecture?*  
  
"Boy, where is your head?!" Nope, there's a lecture, he was just making sure I was okay before he lit into me. I try a bit of humor, esspecially since the entire team is now watching.  
  
"It's that lump a couple of feet above my....." I stop. The look on his face clearly warns me not to be a smart ass right now. "Nevermind. I don't know, I was thinking. I wasn't paying attention, I guess."  
  
"You guess?"  
  
I nod, dumbly.  
  
"Not only DID you cost your team a TOUCHDOWN, but you could have been HURT. YOU HAVE GOT TO PAY ATTENTION!!! THIS AIN'T CHINESE CHECKERS WE"RE PLAYING HERE, WILLIAM!!!" He yells.  
  
*Boy, my real name. He really is pissed.*  
  
"Yes, sir. I understand, sir." Hey, even I know when to swollow my pride. "It won't happen again, Daddy."  
  
He softens. "See that it don't. I don't won't you or anybody else hurt. Soon as you catch your breath, pick up that football and run it five laps around the track."  
  
*Well, so much for that thought*  
  
Then I realize what he had said.  
  
*FIVE LAPS!!!!!!!!! That's more than a mile!! Jeez!!! Remind me not think around him anymore.*  
  
"What are you looking at?" I ask Sheryl, who is staring at me.  
  
"Somebody who can't play," she answers.  
  
"Whatever, Little Girl." I put my helmet on her head, pick up the ball and take off running. I make one lap and am starting on my second when Alan Bosley comes running down to the field.  
  
*Why ain't he already at practice? He better have to run some laps, too.*  
  
Even though I know I will have six laps to run now, I stop to hear what he is yelling.  
  
"HEY, GUYS!!!! IT'S COMING!!! IT'S COMING DOWN AT THE STORE!!!! THEY WANT TO BURN THE PLACE DOWN CAUSE THAT COLORED KID GOT SHOT!!!!"  
  
Gerry, Ray, and some other guys take off. Gerry grabs my arm as he passes me. "Come on."  
  
I willingly go. I never even see Daddy heading for his truck, until he pulls up in front of us.  
  
"Get in the truck." He's serious. Dead serious, but still no one, not even myself, does as he says.  
  
"William, Gerry, Alan, Ray, if you ever want to play for me again, get in the truck now."  
  
Two more seconds of staring at him and I jump in the back of that old Ford. They could call me a coward if they wanted too. But I have to go home with him tonight. They don't and I have pushed him far enough for one afternoon.  
  
As soon as I get in, the other guys do, too. I guess they ain't as tough as they like to think..  
  
We ride back to school in silence. As soon as we are all in the building, Coach says, "You boys are going to cool off. Come with me and help me finish packing my things."  
  
We are all smart enough to follow.  
  
"Now, Gerry, I know your heart was in the right place, Son," I hear Tyrell saying. "But you ought to know better than embrass the Coach like that."  
  
Gerry mumbles something about not wanting to play with "...those black animals..." as we walk into Daddy's office. There stands a very well dressed black man about the same age as Coach. He's playing with the game ball from our last regional championship.  
  
"Whoa." Alan says. I think he is trying to shut Gerry up. If so, then he is out of luck.  
  
"I see him," Gerry says, defiantly.  
  
"Who are you?" Tyrell asks.  
  
"I'm Herman Boone." He answers, confidently. "The new assistant coach."  
  
"Well, from the looks of things, I'd say we have about all the help we need around here," Tyrell continues.  
  
Coach still hasn't said anything. I turn a chair near the door around, and sit, straddling it like a horse. This is going to be good and I'm not about to miss a minute of it. Coach is too quiet. I know this look. This is the look he gets just before he tells someone, ussually me, off. He looks down at Sheryl.  
  
*Where did she come from?*  
  
She looks back up at him, questioningly. I can tell she don't know what to think about this. She looks at Boone, as Coach gently pushes her towards the door and out of the way. She cooperates but only makes it as far as her big brother's knee before she stops and crawls into my lap. Nine and half years old or not, Sheryl is still very much our baby, mine and Coach's, and I'm going to do all I can to keep her that way as long as she wants to be. I put my arms around her trying to reassure her everything was going to be okay.  
  
Coach and everyone else continues to stare at Boone while he and Tyrell talk. I can't tell what Coach is thinking, as much as I would like too.  
  
"Coach Boone," Coach finally speaks, in his slow even tone. "The school board made the decision to put you on my staff I did not hire you."  
  
That's our Daddy. He says what needs to be said, but he doesn't disrespect the person like Tyrell is doing.  
  
"Well, I came up here to coach at G.W." Boone answers. "I didn't ask the schools to redistrict, I didn't ask to be assigned to your staff, so I guess we are both in a situation we don't want to be in, but I will garantee you this, I come to win."  
  
I can tell he just won a bit of Coach's respect. Though Coach doesn't say a word. Sheryl leans forward and rests her arms on the back of the chair we are sitting in.  
  
"Win?" Tyrell scoffs. He then, goes on about what a good coach Daddy is. I can tell Coach is embrassed, but he has too much respect for the older man to say anything.  
  
"Well," Boone says, almost mockingly. "What an oppurtunity for me, then. To learn from the best."  
  
So much for having won Coach's respect. Coach is from the very old school and you never speak down to your elders, no matter how much of a jerk, they are being.  
  
After a few more tense minutes of discussion, Boone leaves. Coach looks around the room.  
  
"You boys go straight on home," he says. I guess he's no longer in the mood deal with our little trip to the store. "And if I find out you went anywhere else but home, you'll be sorry."  
  
They all nod and mumble, "Yes,sir," on thier way out. Coach Tyrell leaves with them. That just leaves Coach, and Sheryl, and me. The way it always is. The way I like it.  
  
  
  
"Well, kids, let's get this place cleaned up." He says, and we get to work. Him and Sheryl pack up boxes and I carry them out to his truck and my car. Most of this stuff will end up at our house, in Coach's office, but some of it will go to T.C. Williams, our new high school. I put the last box in my car and go back inside. It's near 11 p.m. now. Sheryl is fast asleep on a couch in the corner. The school board will be sending somebody out to pick up the furniture and carry it to the new school. Coach is sitting on the corner of his desk, lost in thought. I wish that I knew what he thought about all this, but he's being quiet about it all, just telling me things'll work out whenever I ask. I go and sit beside him.  
  
"You know," he says. "You were just a baby when I came here. Not more'n three years old. Sheryl wasn't even born yet. Your..." his voice drifts off, but I know what he was going to say.  
  
*Momma was still around.*  
  
"You practically grew up in this office." He finishes. "Well, I guess things have to change sometime." He pats me on the back.  
  
"You ready to go, Coach?" I ask. "Sheryl's done passed out on us." I point to her.  
  
He laughs, then turns serious again. "No, you go ahead, though. Take Little Bit, put her to bed. I'll be home in a bit."  
  
"What about all the stuff?"  
  
"Just leave it be," he answers. "We'll do something with it tomarrow."  
  
"Okay." I nod. Then, I hug him. I don't know why. It just seems like a thing I need to do. "I love you, Coach."  
  
He hugs me back, just as tightly. "I love you, too, Son."  
  
I gather Sis up in my arms and take on last look at the old office, and walk out to my Mustang and lay her inside. She's so tired, she barely stirs. *Poor baby. Everythings so twisted and turned upside down.* I walk around to the driver's side of the car and get in. I crank it up and for a minute or two I just look around. I feel kind of sad, knowing this was the last time I would sit in Hammond's parking lot. I took my first dip of tobacca, smoked my first cigerette, got my first kiss, and my first broken heart, all right here in this parking lot. Then with a grin, in true Bulldog spirit, I gun the accelorator, slow let off the clutch and squall the tires as I take off to become a T.C. Williams' Titan in what would prove to be one of the best years of my life.  
  
But, you know the saying, things have to get worse, before they can get better.  
  
  
  
If I get good reviews, I'll continue with part two. 


	2. Boone to be Head Coach at T.C.

I don't know what time Coach got home last night I fell asleep on the sofa waiting up for him. I know he did though, because I woke up with a blanket thrown over me and a pillow under my head. Or, at least I would have, but I didn't remember falling asleep on the sofa, turned over and hit the floor.  
  
THUMP! *OW!*  
  
"I think your brother is up," I hear Coach say. I stand up and throw the blanket back up on the sofa then stagger, still half asleep into the kitchen.  
  
*Breakfast*  
  
"What's to eat? I'm hungry."  
  
"Cereal," Sheryl answers. "When ain't you hungry?"  
  
"Never, Squirt." I ruffle her hair as I walk by.  
  
I grab a bowl and a spoon before taking my seat.  
  
"Hey!" Sheryl protests as I retrieve the Frosted Flakes from in front of her. "You have your own cereal."  
  
"Deal with it." *Brat.*  
  
"Coach, I was thinking I'd get Alan out here, and we could practice roping some," I say. Alan and me are team ropers in the high school rodeo association. We kick butt, too. (My thoughts;) Can't you just see our adorable Alan decked out in blue jeans, boots, and a cowboys hat. Yum.) I guess Virginia ain't exactly the place you would think to find cowboys , but all little boys play cowboys. Alan and Gerry, and me , and Kurt Davis, and Micheal Hasting, we just never outgrew that particular game.  
  
"Yeah, that'll be okay." He replies.  
  
"You gonna be around to help us?"  
  
He nods. "I'll be home most the day.  
  
"Cool."  
  
Between bites, I say, "Alan's dad wants me to teach Alan how to ride bulls. He thinks Alan'd be good at it if he tried."  
  
"Does Alan want to learn?"  
  
I shrug. "He hasn't really said, but I don't think so. To tell you the truth I kinda think Alan's scared of riding bulls."  
  
"I don't blame him. You're crazy for not being scared of it," Coach grins.  
  
I laugh for a second, but this is serious. "Alan won't admit it, if he is though. You know how Mr. Bosley is. Alan has to be the best at everything. If he told him, he was afraid of something, Mr. Bosley would disown him."  
  
"Coach, why does Alan's daddy push him so hard?" That question came from Sheryl, who was obviously tired of being left out of the conversation.  
  
"Well," Coach thinks about how to answer her. "I guess he just wants Alan to be successful at everything he does."  
  
"Yeah, but that's pretty hard when he expects Alan to do EVERYTHING. Poor Alan."  
  
*Poor Alan is right.*  
  
After two more bowls of cereal, *Hey, I'm a growing boy, and I'll buy Sheryl some more Frosted Flakes,* I call Alan.  
  
"Hey, Man, what are you doing today?"  
  
"I don't know, but, I'm sure Dad is going to think of something I JUST HAVE to do today," Alan replies, sarcastically. I grimace. Things must not be going so well over there right now.  
  
"You think he'd let you come over here and rope for awhile? Tell him we got a rodeo coming up right after school starts, and between football and school we ain't gonna have much time to work."  
  
"Yeah, probably, hold on, I'll go ask."  
  
After a few minutes Alan comes back on the line. "It's cool. I'll be over in about an hour."  
  
"Okay, see ya later."  
  
"Bye," Alan hangs up.  
  
I help clean up the kitchen, then head out to the barn. I have a black and white Paint horse named Cochise, of course. Sissie has a white mare she calls Clover, don't ask me where she got that name, and Coach has a buckskin, Brandy. Though I ussually end up taking care of all three.  
  
I hurry and finish my chores, then lead Cochise out and saddle her. Alan pulls up just as I am finishing, and leads his horse, Sport, out of the trailer.  
  
*Okay so we didn't just want to be cowboys when we little, we wanted to be the Cartwrights.*  
  
"What did you do?" I ask as he walks out of the trailer. "Get a new hat?"  
  
"Uh-huh, my old one was squeezing my brain, I think," he answers.  
  
"Yeah, right," I laugh. "You're just trying to get some pretty little girl to notice you."  
  
Alan grins out at me from beneath the brim of a black stetson. "You just wish you looked half as good as I do," he replies, straightening his hat.  
  
"Oh, yeah, that's it." I smirk. Alan's only 15 and kinda like a kid brother to me. So I try to take care of him, but I also tease him whenever I get the chance, just like any big brother.  
  
"Are we gonna rope, or you just gonna stand around all day and run your mouth?"  
  
"Don't get testy, now," I say, holding up my hands in a mock surrender. "Come on, we got to go round up the cows. Coach put them out in the far field yesterday." I mount up and look around the property. When Coach was a boy, this was a great ranch, with lots of cattle, and horses, and livestock. His Granddaddy owned it, but after he died, it was kind of let go to ruin, nobody wanted to take care of it so when Coach got the job teaching in Alexandria he bought it and fixed it up, so we could grow up where he did. I know he wishes he had more time to spend on it, but he's football coach, not a farmer.  
  
"You couldn't have done that BEFORE I got here?" Alan asked.  
  
"What? And steal all your fun? No way." I laugh. "Come on."  
  
Three hours later, we decided to call it quits. We were still pretty good. Alan helps me put Cochise back in the barn and feed and water her. I can tell he doesn't really want to go home. I don't blame him. I don't like Fred Bosley, and I don't have live him. Alan does.  
  
"Hey, let's feed and water Sport, then get some lunch," I suggest.  
  
He smiles and nods. "That sounds good, thanks."  
  
We were sitting at the table eating lunch when the phone rang.  
  
"I'll get it," I say, jumping up. I figure it's Fred looking for Alan.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Billy Junior, this is Mr. Watson, from the school board. Is your Daddy around?" The voice on the other end says. I wince at the name Billy Junior. It's BJ. I'm not three years old anymore. Billy Junior has ceased to be cute.  
  
"Yes, sir, hold on," I say. I lay the phone down. "Coach, it's Mr. Watson. He wanted to talk to you."  
  
Coach goes to the phone. Then comes back, looking none too happy.  
  
"What was that about?" I ask.  
  
"I don't know yet. He's coming out here to talk to me."  
  
"Probably just something about camp or something."  
  
Coach nods.  
  
  
  
Mr. Watson showed up, just a few minutes after Alan left. We were all still outside.  
  
"What's all this about?" Coach asks him.  
  
"The school board has decided that that negro Herman Boone is going to be the new head coach at TC."  
  
Sheryl had her arms wrapped around Coach's waist. "IT'S NOT FAIR! MY DADDY'S HEAD COACH!" She exclaimed. "THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HIS HALL OF FAME YEAR!"  
  
"Now, nobody is trying to take away your Daddy's future place in the hall," Mr. Watson says, in attempts to calm her.  
  
Coach says nothing. He just hold onto her and stares at Lyle Watson.  
  
I say nothing. I'm in a state of shock. How can they replace Daddy? He's the best.  
  
"YOU CAN'T JUST WALK IN HERE AND TAKE MY DADDY'S JOB AWAY!!" Sheryl continues.  
  
"Sheryl, that is enough!" Coach finally says, putting his finger over her lips. "That's enough!"  
  
He lets her go and she stomps away. When she gets just past Mr. Watson, she stops and spins around.  
  
*Uh-oh. She's gonna kick him.*  
  
Daddy must have had the same thought. "SHERYL!!"  
  
Yep. She kicked him. I feel like doing that myself. Then she runs off into the field and starts kicking at the weeds and wildflowers there. I go after her.  
  
"Hold it, Little Bit. You're kicking down all Clover's snacks." I catch her and sit down, pulling her into my lap.  
  
"I don't care!" She declares. "It ain't fair. Daddy's supposed to be head coach."  
  
"I know. I don't like it either, but this one of them times when we got to be strong, cause as bad as we feel, Daddy feels a lot worse," I tell her, letting her cry into my shirt. "Can you do that? Can you be strong for Coach?"  
  
She looks up and nods.  
  
I hug her tightly. "Good, cause, Daddy's gonna need us to be as strong as we can be, and not make this any harder."  
  
"I'll be strong," she promises.  
  
"I know you will." I say. "Are you ready to go over there and behave?"  
  
She shakes her head. "No, not yet. Can't me and you just stay out here until that meanie old poopie- headed Mr. Watson leaves?"  
  
I smile. That describes him alright. "Yeah, we can stay out here until that meanie old poopie-headed Mr. Watson leaves."  
  
  
  
Word travels fast in Virginia. By nightfall, Coach had eleven offers for head coaching positions all over the state. By nightfall we also had a visit from Herman Boone.  
  
I'm up in the hayloft of the barn when I hear voices in Daddy's office. The office used to be the old bunkhouse, when Granddaddy had hired hands, so I have no problem hearing everyword. I would sneak over to the stairs that go down to there, but Coach would see me and banish me to the house and I want hear what this dirty job thief has to say.  
  
"Now, look, I can't even spell diplomacy and I'm sorry for the way things went down, but make no mistake, I am qualified to be this team's head coach," Boone says.  
  
*Yeah, I bet you are.*  
  
"Sure,"Coach replies, "You've been in what? 4 or 5 programs in the last ten years?"  
  
"With 4 or 5 wins."  
  
"This isn't about me," Coach looks him in the eye. "I'm worried about my boys."  
  
"Well I ain't going to cook 'em and eat 'em." Boone smiles. "The best player will play. Color won't matter."  
  
*Yeah, right. I'll believe that when I see it, but of course, I won't see it, cause I ain't playing for you. I don't like thiefs.*  
  
"From the looks of the little situation we got ourselves here, I'd say that's about all that does," Caoch replies.  
  
"Yeah, you right. Were all in a tough spot, Coach. You, me, the whole city," Boone says getting to his feet. "Now I think it would do a lot to smooth things over if you'd stay, work on the staff. Be a defensive coordinator, assistant head coach."  
  
"Work under you?" Coach's voice is still soft and even, but his whole attitude has changed.  
  
"If that's the way you see it," Boone replies.  
  
*You just screwed any chance of THAT happening.*  
  
"Goodnight, Coach."  
  
Boone looks up as if he knows I'm up here, then nods and walks out.  
  
"BJ, son, I know you're up there, come on down." Coach says.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"You heard, huh?"  
  
I leave the stairs and walk over to him. "Yeah. What are we going to do now?"  
  
He thinks for a minute the picks up a piece of paper on his desk. "How do you feel about Loudon high?"  
  
"Pretty good, if that's where you're going to be," I answer.  
  
He nods. "Yeah, that's where I'm going to be."  
  
"When are you going to tell the rest of the team?"  
  
"Tomorrow." He looks at me. "Tomorrow, at Hal's. Do me a favor. Go call the rest of the team and tell them to be at Hal's tomorrow, around three and bring a parent if possible. There's a roster with names and phone numbers on the bar. Send Sheryl out here. Might as well tell her and get it over with."  
  
"Yes, sir." I start to go but turn back at the door. "Coach, that job don't start till next year. What're you going to do till then?"  
  
He looks around, then smiles, though there is little humor in his eyes. "Guess I'll try my hand at being a farmer. See if I can't run this place into the ground."  
  
"Nah. Everythings going to be cool, Coach. It always is," I say. That attitude just isn't like him at all. He never gives up on anything.  
  
He laughs a little. "I should be the one telling you that son. Now run on, do what I asked, please."  
  
"Yes, sir." I want to ask him about Sheryl and me, about where we'll go to school this year, but now ain't the time, so I head into the house. 


	3. First Meetings, Sacrifies, and other Bus...

(Let's fast forward. This skips the meeting at Hal's and starts up with the Hammond team about to walk into the Titan's gym to meet Coach Boone and the other boys for the first time.)  
  
  
  
Well, we met at Hal's three days ago. First, Fred Bosley showed his hind end and got all the parents riled up and wanting to boycott T.C. Williams, then one by one all of the team, myself included, declared that we wouldn't play for anyone else, and it's true. Well, Coach is smart enough to know that very few of us can afford to go to a different school just to play football. I can always go to the school Daddy is teaching at, but, no one else can do that. Plus, if Gerry, myself, Kurt, Ray, and Tommy don't play this season, we are throwing away any chance of getting a scholarship for football. So what does he do? He takes a humilating demotion and stays on at T.C. so we will play. Makes me wonder if Boone would be willing to do the same thing for his boys.  
  
In any case, here we stand outside the gym of T.C. Williams. What should have been a rowdy reunion after two months, much like the one we hear going on inside, is marred and we all stand silently, waiting for Coach to tell what we are going to do next.  
  
"You boys are just as good of players as they are" he says finally. "You are going to walk into that gym as a team. If any of you have decided that you just can't play for Boone then you're excused now. But, if you walk in there you are committing yourself to play for him as you would me."  
  
Kurt Davis looks around then slowly raises his hand.  
  
"Yes, Kurt?" Coach says.  
  
"Coach, I thought you were going to be coaching here, too," he says. The boy who is bigger than most of us out there, shuffles his feet and looks at the ground. Kurt is so shy he won't hardly talk to anyone he hasn't known most of his life and almost never confronts someone in authority or asks questions.  
  
"I am, Kurt," Coach explains. "But I will only be a defensive coordinator, assistant coach. Boone is in charge, and for you boys who play offense, he will be the one you will work with the most."  
  
*Yep, me too. Just three days ago, I swore I wouldn't play for anyone else, but here I go, directly playing for Boone. If Daddy can take it, then I can too.*  
  
Four boys walk away.  
  
Coach watches them go, then turns to the rest of us. "You boys don't speak unless you are spoken to. I don't want you all going in there and popping off. Boone and Hinds deserve your respect, too. Is that clear?"  
  
Everyone nods.  
  
As a team we walk into the gym.  
  
And interrupt the first team meeting.  
  
Something Coach Boone obviously doesn't like.  
  
"Coach Yoast, may I have a word with you?" He says. He and Coach walk into the stairwell.  
  
I wish I could hear what's being said, but I don't dare move.  
  
*G.W. had a white boy on their team? No, he must be new.*  
  
Now it wasn't written in stone that white kids had to go to Hammond and black kids to G.W., that's just the way it was, but I had watched G.W. play in city wide scrimmage games, and I didn't remember any white boys.  
  
"Traitor," Ray whispers, staring at the heavey set blonde boy. I wouldn't say that, just yet. If he is knew, he probably didn't know everything until he got here. Gerry and I, both, shoot Ray murderous looks. Coach said to be quiet. No one else dares to speak.  
  
After what seems like an eternity, Coach and Boone walk back in. Coach Boone introduces Daddy and Coach Tyrell and finds out what position everybody plays, and issues directions about camp, then dismisses us.  
  
  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
August 15, 1971  
  
5:30 a.m.  
  
I slap the alarm clock off and groggily sit up, trying to remember why I'm up this early.  
  
*Camp. Oh, yeah.*  
  
I slip into my faded out jeans and old Hammond shirt that has seen better days and my boots before going downstairs.  
  
Coach and Sheryl are already up. If you can call Sheryl, who is sitting at the table with her head resting on the crook of her arm, occasionally lifting her head up, to take a bite of her waffles, awake.  
  
Coach looks at me and sighs, "BJ, you heard Boone. Go put on what you are supposed to wear."  
  
"I heard him," I snap without meaning too. *Oh, well, as they say, In for a penny...* "But I ain't wearing a suit to water and feed the horses!"  
  
"Go on, do your chores," Coach admonishes. "And while you're out in the barn, see if you can't lose that attitude. This not the morning to push me. Not if you want to play ball this year."  
  
Sheryl looks up at us with those big puppy dog eyes of hers. She hates when we gripe at each other, and an arguement will send her to tears. It should be illegal for any kid to look that sad.  
  
"Sorry," I mutter before heading out to the barn.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"So, Coach is pretty upset, huh?"  
  
I jump at the sound of Sheryl's voice behind me.  
  
"Yeah, well, he has a right to be." I say. She climbs up on the wall of Clover's stall, then leans out to offer the horse some sugar cubes. I instinctively reach out and catch her before she tumbles over the rail.  
  
"Thanks, brother," she grins. I go back to tending Brandy. "Brother?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you think Clover's going to miss me while we're gone?"  
  
I give the question half a smile. Trust Sheryl to think of that. "Yeah, I think she will. I bet Christopher won't sneak out here every morning with sugar cubes for her," I say speaking of the man Coach has hired to take care of the animals while we were gone.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Sister, you know you don't have to go, right?" I ask. "Grandma Arleen said she would come out here and stay with you, and Mrs. Bertier offered to keep you."  
  
"I know, but Momma says she's gonna come get me and let me spend the week with her," she says excitedly. Our Mom lives in Elizabethtown, PA. She teaches Art at Elizabethtown College. She used to teach at Concoran College in D.C., when she and Daddy were married. I guess someone that important can't be expected to stay married to a lowly high school football coach.  
  
*I hope you don't get your feelings hurt. Momma better show up.*  
  
"Well," I say. "Even if she can't make it, Coach'll need you to help him and I need you to tell me what I'm doing wrong, so I don't look like an idiot out there."  
  
"Momma'll be there," she says, stubbornly. "She promised."  
  
"Come on," I say. "We'd better go inside and get ready to leave."  
  
I go over to her, and throw her over my shoulder, admists her giggles, and gallop into the house.  
  
Coach is still at the table drinking coffee when we come in.  
  
I lower Sheryl until she is completely upside down. "Hey, Coach, I found a stray outside. You want her?"  
  
He catches her and pulls her into his lap. "Yeah, I'll claim her."  
  
I hear her giggles as I go upstairs to get a shower. It's 6:15.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
An hour and ten minutes later, we are at the school. Ready to go. This has been an interesting morning to say the least.  
  
First Boone humilates Gerry and Ray, definitely not winning the respect of any of the white parents, but he couldn't let their challenge to his authority go unmet. I think Coach knew that, even if he don't approve of the way Boone set about meeting it.  
  
In any case, I'm glad Alan and I were already on the bus, or we probably would have been in on it too.  
  
"Man, what are they doing?" I ask Alan, pointing at the boys filing off the other bus.  
  
"How the heck should I know?" He shrugged.  
  
Just then, Boone climbed on our bus. "Alright, everybody off the bus."  
  
"I guess we get to find out," I say as I jump the last step.  
  
Boone was yelling again before everyone was even off the buses. "Listen up! I don't care if you are black, blue, green, white, or orange, I want all of my defensive players on this side, everyone going out for offense over there. RIGHT NOW! Let's GO! Let's GO! Let's GO! Let's GO! You and you," he points at me and Jerry Harris, "Offensive bus, sit together! You and you, defensive bus, sit together. Get comfortable, too. Because the person I have you sitting with is the person who you will be rooming with for the duration of this camp."  
  
I look at Coach. He shrugs. "Get on the bus." He pats my back. Then he smiles. "It won't kill you not to be able to get Alan in trouble for two hours. Besides, you just might get to like Jerry Harris."  
  
I laugh and nod. Then last of what he said sinks in.  
  
*Daddy's encourging me to make friends with these guys? But.., he didn't even want to work for Boone? Maybe Coach ain't like the rest of the parents after all.*  
  
I climb on the bus and take my seat next to Jerry.  
  
He holds out his hand. "Jerry Harris."  
  
I think about what Coach just said, and in the thought of trying to make things easier and get along, I accept it in a handshake. "BJ Yoast. William Jacob, actually, but the only person who ever calls me that is Daddy, when he's mad."  
  
He laughs. "You're Coach Yoast's son, right?"  
  
"Yeah," I nod. "So, if you hear William, or William Jacob, getting a talking to, you know who screwed up."  
  
He smiles again. "I'll remember that."  
  
"You're the one they call Rev, ain't you?"  
  
He nods.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I guess because I pray all the time, and I don't go around drinking and cussing. Some of the older guys on the team, when I first joined that is, thought it was funny, that I prayed out loud and stuff, so they started calling me Reverend Jerry. It just stuck, then got shortened to Rev. These guys now, they don't mean any disrespect by it and I guess I could be called worse."  
  
I nod, then turn and face forward and for the next two hours, no one talks much and if you did say something it was to someone of your own race. I guess goodwill can only go so far. I want to talk to Rev some more, but, I just don't know what to say. I guess he don't either, cuase he don't say anything.  
  
  
  
After maybe an hour of silence, I get fidgetty. Call me immature, but I can't sit still, with nothing to do, for very long. I get into trouble for it all the time. I guess I just don't have a very long attention span.  
  
I look around for a minute then find my backpack stored under the seat and pull out my drawing pad, then rummage around in it looking for a pencil. I love to draw and paint. I guess I have more of my mother in me than I like to admit. Finding one, I settle back, pad resting on my knee and begin to draw the straight smooth lines of Clover's stall, then move on to the lines of Sheryl's back and legs as she leans over to feed the horse, then her hair and arms, until finally that part is done. Then I start trying to draw my own hand.  
  
Yep, you guessed it. I'm drawing her nearly toppling over into the horse's stall this morning. Weird thing to draw, huh? I guess so too, but it's for Coach, for his birthday if I can finish it in time. AND if I decide to paint it and give it to him. I almost never show anyone the things I draw.  
  
I hold my hand out, fingers curled as if I'm reaching for something, then draw a bit, then repeat the process.  
  
I do this, until I am getting strange looks from everyone on the bus, including Coach and Sheryl.  
  
"What are you drawing?" Jerry asks, looking over.  
  
I snap my book closed. "None of your business," I answer, hotly, destroying any kind of friendship we might have been building before. I know, I shouldn't have been so hasty but no one, not even Coach, sees my pictures before I finish them, if then.  
  
"Look, sorry, man," I say, turning to look at Rev. "I'm just kinda testy about my drawings. I don't like for people to see them until they're done. At least."  
  
"It's cool," he replies. "I understand. Somethings just got to be kept secret." He shrugs then goes back to looking out the window.  
  
  
  
(More coming soon, if anyone's still interested.) 


	4. First Day of Camp

Well, we made it to Gettysburg with no one trying to kill each other.  
  
Heck, we even made through room assignments and inside the dorms with no major skirmishes, but that was as far as we made it.  
  
I'm sharing a room with Rev and Petey. *Should be an interesting few weeks, huh?* Anyway, I'm unpacking my duffel when I hear Alan yelling.  
  
"FIGHT!!! FIGHT!!!! FIGHT!!!"  
  
We all ran out into the hall to Gerry and Julius Campbell beating the tar out of each other. I was only going to pull Gerry off Julius. Really, that was all I intended to do but someone grabbed me from behind and the next thing I know, I was throwing punches, too.  
  
Now, we are standing in front of Boone and the other coaches, getting chewed out for fighting.  
  
Coach is staring at me with a look of disapproval on his face. *I'm gonna get it.* That's the only bad thing about being the Coach's son. Everybody else's parents will probably never know about this fight. My parent was the one who stopped it.  
  
"You will be perfect in all aspects of the game," Boone says. "You drop a pass, you run a mile. You miss a blocking assignment, you run a mile. If you fumble the football, I will break my foot off in yo' JOHN BROWN HIND PARTS, then you will run a mile. PERFECTION!!!" Then he quietly says, "Let's get to work."  
  
Coach catches me before I leave the room.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Why were you fighting, Son?"  
  
I shrug and look down.  
  
"Answer me."  
  
"Look, why don't you jump on Bertier? He's the one who started it." I say, defensively. "He can tell you."  
  
"Because Gerry's not my son, you are, and I thought I had taught you better than to get into fist fights for reasons you don't even know," he answers.  
  
"Look, I was going to pull Gerry off Julius and some guy grabbed me. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it?" I snap.  
  
"You should have come for help. Fighting ain't the way to solve a problem. I thought I taught you that," he replies, just as sharply.  
  
"IS that what you taught me? Well, tell you what. Next time, I'll just stand there and let them kick the crap out of me, would that make you happy?"  
  
"What would make me happy would be for you to stop acting like a five- year-old throwing a hissy fit. Now, get out there on that field and don't let me hear about you fighting again. Is that clear?" He asks.  
  
"Yes, sir," I mumble.  
  
"What?"  
  
"YES. SIR." I skulk off to the field. *Yeah, I'm being a pain, but so what? I wasn't the only one fighting, I shouldn't be the only one he's griping at.*  
  
"He's hard on that boy, ain't he?" I hear Boone ask Doc when I pass them.  
  
"Yeah, well, Herman," Doc answers. "It's kind of tough not to be hard on a walking, talking replica of yourself."  
  
*Am I that much like Coach? No.* I shake my head.  
  
**************************************************************************** ******  
  
By lunch, at 1 p.m., we are all hot, dirty, and exhausted. I stop at the coaches table, set my tray down and kneel beside Daddy.  
  
"When's Momma supposed to pick up Sheryl?"  
  
"She said she'd be here around seven, after she got off work," he answers.  
  
"Do you REALLY believe she's gonna show up?"  
  
"She said she would," he shrugs. "No reason not to believe her. It would be nice if you stayed around to see her."  
  
I roll my eyes. "There's plenty of reasons not to believe her, and we both know it."  
  
"Just think about it," he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I can't make you, but you do need to see your mother."  
  
"She lives three hours from Alexandria, Coach. THREE HOURS! If she wanted to see me, or Sheryl for that matter, she'd have done it by now."  
  
"Okay, okay, let's not go in to this right now," he replies. "Your little sister is very excited about seeing Christina, and I won't have you ruining it, understood?"  
  
"I wouldn't do that to Sis," I reply, rather hurt by that comment. "I just hope our mother doesn't ruin it by not showing up. Like usual."  
  
I stand, snatch my tray up, and take a seat across from Gerry, Alan, and Ray, slamming my tray down in the process.  
  
Alan leans over. "What's your problem? Are you still upset because Coach is letting Shery spend the week in Elizabethtown?"  
  
"No, I'm upset because Sheryl is setting herself up to get her feelings hurt and he ain't doing anything about it."  
  
"Have a little faith, Man," Gerry adds. "You never know, your Mom just might come through this time."  
  
I nod. *I doubt it.* 


End file.
